


Home Away From Home

by Sivany



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Grimmauld Place, Humor, M/M, flatmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-02 06:21:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5237696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sivany/pseuds/Sivany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somehow Harry's flat had become the one place Draco could call home, so when Harry suddenly announces he is planning to move house Draco vows to stop him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Away From Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [who_la_hoop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/who_la_hoop/gifts).



> Thank you to my beta for all her work on this (not mentioning the name because this is anonymous). I started about four different stories for this fest, but this is the one that finally came together. It might not be exactly what you were expecting who_la_hoop but I really hope you enjoy it!

When he was eleven Harry had no real place to call home, so when he went to Hogwarts that became his home.

When he was eleven Draco went to Hogwarts and it became his home away from home. His real home was the Manor. Until one day the Manor didn't seem like home anymore, and Hogwarts didn't much either, and Draco drifted alone and homeless with his world in tatters.

Then one day Harry made the world right again and found himself a new home, a small flat on the outskirts of London, which he claimed was only temporary until he managed to renovate Grimmauld Place. That had been nearly six years ago.

Somehow that flat had become Draco's home away from home.

It had started a little over six months after the war had ended, when Harry was training to be an Auror and Draco was skulking round the Manor lamenting the life he had lost and inventing elaborate ways to remake his life, with no expectation of ever actually being able to carry out the plans. That was when the Owl had arrived carrying the note which simply read, _"You can have your wand back if you like. Tonight 6pm. Harry"_. This was followed by an address that was scrawled in such poor handwriting Draco had worried he might misread it and end up exiting the Floo network somewhere completely random, which knowing his luck would turn out to be the house of an old lady of delicate disposition who would drop dead of a heart attack at the sight of him, which would lead to awkward questions and probably a nice long stay in Azkaban. The alternative - an old lady of robust constitution who would set about beating him with her handbag was only marginally less distressing and it was only after these scenarios had played themselves out in full that Draco realised he hadn't given any thought to the alternative, which was _not going_ , which should surely have been his first thought. He wasn't sure what it said about him that it wasn't, and he wasn't entirely sure why at exactly six o'clock he found himself standing in front of the fireplace once again practising his 'it wasn't my fault, she just dropped dead in front of me' speech, having completely ignored the _not going_ option in favour of a potential spell in Azkaban. 

So Draco had gone and to his surprise had found himself stepping out of the Floo into a smart, but slightly over-furnished living room in what was very clearly the correct residence. He had known it was correct because Harry had been standing just a few feet away gawping at the fireplace as if a Thestral, rather than an invited guest, had just stepped out of the flames. 

"Evening," Draco had said, brushing self-consciously at some invisible ash on his jumper and half wishing Harry would stop gawping at him and make some sort of stupid remark. He only half wished it because a stupid remark would mean he needed to come up with some sort of cutting reply, and he really wasn't feeling up to that at the moment. The stupidity of this whole thing had suddenly hit him like a slap around the face and he felt almost dizzy with the ridiculousness of the idea that he was here, in Harry Potter's flat, with Harry looking at him in this way, even thought he'd invited him, which was stupid in and of itself, without all the rest added in, and really he should turn around and go back to the Manor right now.

In the end he didn't only because that would have made him look even more stupid. Instead he glanced around the room and said "Nice place," as if he and Harry had been on good terms all along and this whole meeting wasn't some sort of mad impulse on Harry's part to give back a wand he'd stolen in the midst of a duel which had started with one of his best friends being tortured.

Harry had cleared his throat, said, "thank you," and offered him a drink. Draco had accepted as if he wasn't just as mad for coming here on an equally mad impulse to claim back the wand that Harry had stolen from him in a duel, which had started with his insane Aunt torturing one of his classmates for daring to be born to Muggle parents.

Several hours later they had both been drunk, Harry sprawled on the sofa and Draco draped across an armchair and in the morning over bacon sandwiches Draco had told Harry one of his elaborate plans to remake his life.

Harry hadn't laughed. What Harry had done had been to get Draco a place in the Auror Training programme. 

That had been the start of it all. It had ended in a odd sort of friendship and an unspoken understanding that Harry's spare room was really Draco's room. He came to Harry's after work for dinner; to celebrate a case solved; to gossip about their co-workers; to get away when the Manor became oppressive and despair seemed to seep into his very soul. The Manor was no longer his home. He no longer had a home, but Harry's flat was a good substitute.

It was why one day, when Harry turned to him cheerfully and announced that he'd finally come to the end of the renovations on Grimmauld Place and that there were just a few finishing touches to be done, and that he'd love Draco to come and see it and maybe give his opinion on decorating, since he always seemed so quick to disparage Harry's interior decorating choice in the flat, that Draco felt his stomach fill with dread.

If Grimmauld Place was nearly finished, Harry would move in there. He would no longer live in the flat. Instead of the cosy warmth of the too-small, overcrowded rooms, there would be lofty ceilings and empty rooms. Instead of _his_ bedroom, which contained almost as many of his clothes as the Manor did, there would be a guest bedroom that he might use occasionally. Instead of comfortable nights by the fire with just the two of them, there would be Kreacher and the oppressive memories of a house that had not seen enough happiness. It would be almost as bad as the Manor.

Draco nodded and smiled and made all the right noises, but his inside had turned to ice and there was only one thought in his head - Harry must not move out of the flat.

*****

The problem with deciding that Harry must not move out of the flat was that Harry was determined to move out of the flat, and Draco knew from experience that when Harry has set his mind on something, there was very little anyone could do to change it.

What Draco needed to do now was come up with a plan of action. He needed to give Harry enough reasons to stay where he was, and he needed to do it quickly. 

The first, and easiest course of action was obvious. Harry was keen for him to see the house, and Draco thought that the sooner he saw it the sooner he could start to criticise it and hopefully change Harry's mind. It was the only reason that when Harry suggested a visit there on the Monday night after a surprisingly quiet day at work Draco had immediately agreed.

"Here we are," Harry announced, rather unnecessarily Draco thought, the moment they stepped out of the Floo. Of course they were here, it was fairly obvious that they wouldn't be anywhere else and in Draco's opinion the biggest clue of all that they were here, in Grimmauld Place, and no longer in the flat was that the room was, as he had feared, large and empty, with high ceilings and cold bare windows and stark white walls that didn't feel anything like a home of any sort.

"There's no furniture," he said, and then cursed internally because that just sounded stupid and he had prepared a long list of complaints to make sure that he did _not_ sound stupid. There was absolutely no excuse for making such a ridiculous statement.

Harry though was apparently oblivious to the stupidity and simply waltzed towards the door acting as if Draco hadn't just pointed out the obvious.

"No, well, I thought perhaps you could help me choose some new furniture. You're always complaining about the furniture in the flat and I know Hermione's desperate to give me a few decorating tips as well. She seems to agree with you when it comes to my taste. Apparently I'm not to be trusted."

Draco managed to rally enough to say, "Well, she always was the clever one," which sadly wasn't a remark up to his usual standards of cutting sarcasm, and followed Harry towards the door with his head already spinning.

New furniture? Why on earth would Harry want him to choose new furniture? Draco didn't want new furniture. He wanted the old familiar furniture in the flat. He wanted the squishy chair with the broken springs that he'd fallen asleep on that first night when he'd started to put his life back together. He wanted the old worn sofa, the one that sagged so much in the middle that whenever he and Harry sat side by side they always ended up somehow moulded together, thigh to shoulder, without even realising it was happening. Most of all he wanted the room, with its familiar walls painted in the strange shade of green that Harry had chosen before Draco had been around to stop him making such a terrible decorating choice, and the dreadfully patterned carpet, with its worn pathways and the odd stain where Teddy had once spilt an entire vial of Armadillo Bile when trying to "help" Draco with his potion making.

Somehow though the words seemed to stick in his throat and all he could do was follow Harry silently through the house as he showed off the empty study, the gleaming kitchen and the overly large dining room, complete with a table that looked as if it would hold the entire Auror Department, should Harry ever feel a burning urge to invite them all around for dinner. 

It was cold, unfamiliar and everything Draco had been dreading and somehow he couldn't bring himself to say a single word against it.

Only when they started up the stairs did Draco realise that the tour was almost half over and he hadn't put a single part of his plan into action. He needed to pull himself together and make up for lost time if he was going to have any hope of making Harry see what a truly bad idea this whole move was.

He opened his mouth to begin and stopped short when a sudden thought occurred to him. 

"What happened to the portrait?" he asked, pausing halfway up the stairs to look back at the now empty wall where the picture of Mrs Black had once hung. The hideous face in the portrait was etched in his memory from his first and only visit to this house, right after Harry had announced his intention to renovate it. The curtain had flown back to reveal a raging vision of a demented woman who had screeched profanities and insults at him, in spite of the fact that he was technically a pure-blooded descendent of her line, and it had taken both him and Harry's strength combined to wrench the curtain back into place.

Back then it had been just one more horror of a house full of decay and darkness and whilst Draco had not been expecting the place to look anything like how it had looked back then - even he had known that the house would be clean and would probably smell better - he hadn't thought the picture would be so easy to remove and he had been dreading it still being there.

"I took the wall out."

Harry's answer was so unexpected that Draco had to turn and blink at him questioningly.

"Hermione figured that even if the portrait was stuck permanently to the wall the wall wasn't stuck permanently to the house, so we cut the whole section out and rebuilt it. Got rid of it that way." 

Even Draco had to admit that was clever.

"Come on, I'll show you your room."

The words made Draco blink in surprise again and he found himself following Harry without having said a single one of the clever things he had meant to say about the house.

*****

If Draco had expected Harry to just show him another empty room he was mistaken. Harry led him confidently along the landing of the first floor to a room at the back of the house and grinned at him before flinging open the door and ushering Draco inside.

The room was certainly not empty. In fact the first thing Draco saw was a large four-poster double bed, elegantly carved and standing right in the middle of the room. The other furniture, arranged around the walls, was modern and yet traditional, fitting perfectly with the cream walls and the thick carpet in Draco's favourite shade of blue. He gaped ridiculously at the scene for a whole twenty seconds before Harry spoke.

"Do you like it?" he sounded anxious, which was what Draco needed to pull himself together, but then he added, "I tried to remember all the things you said about how you would want your bedroom to be and you should have one of your own so you can stay over whenever you want. Teddy will have one too."

That undid Draco all over again, because for some reason the idea that Harry had thought the whole thing through enough to decide that he might actually want Draco to stay when his Godson was over as well, seemed entirely at odds with everything Draco had thought before. He stayed at Harry's so often because he liked to, because he was too selfish _not_ to stay whenever he wanted to, no matter what he might think Harry's opinion was of the situation. He had been under the impression that Harry put up with him staying in a resigned sort of way and Draco only went back to the Manor when he had to because Teddy was using the only spare bed and he was damned if he was going to stoop to sleeping on a couch.

Of course he went to the Manor at other times: because his mother guilted him into it, or because Harry was busy doing something else, but if he could get away with it (and if he was willing to be more honest with himself than he was usually) he would have stayed at Harry's every night if he could.

Now, right here, was proof that Harry wasn't just putting up with him because he had to, that Harry might actually want him around. Draco felt suddenly like his throat was closing on him and he let out a desperate gasp for air that made Harry give him a concerned look.

"Do you like it?" he repeated, the anxiety reappearing in his eyes. 

Draco looked around at the room; at the carefully arranged pillows; at the huge mirror above the dresser and the thick rug next to the bed, and felt something he hadn't felt in a long time. It was a feeling he couldn't quite identify. A feeling that was both pleasant and unpleasant, and something he didn't quite understand. He looked at Harry, still staring at him with that liquid green gaze.

"Yeah," he said and left the room.

A moment later Harry caught up with him looking confused. For a moment Draco thought he was going to say something about his behaviour and was relieved when all he did was snap his mouth shut and set off down the landing, leaving Draco standing there.

"I'll show you the other rooms," Harry said when he reached the next doorway along, which meant Draco was forced to go after him, even though what he really wanted to do was curl up somewhere and sort through the thoughts racing around in his head. 

Harry had not only assigned him a room, but he had also decorated it for him. 

Draco hated this house.

But Harry had given him a room here, which was basically the same as inviting him to live with him, wasn't it? And that was a good thing, except that Draco hated this house and hated everything about it, except that room. Maybe even that room.

He followed Harry obediently around for the rest of the tour, completely failing to comment on the cold, unfriendliness of the empty rooms, or the draftiness of high ceilings and large chimneys. In fact he barely said a word, and by the time he and Harry were back in Harry's flat, eating take away in front of Harry's Muggle television Draco felt like his whole world was being turned upside down.

*****

Over the next few days Harry didn't talk about the house much and though Draco knew better than to take this as a sign that he was reconsidering moving in it did give him a welcome break in which to rethink his strategy for plan "get Harry to stay in the flat".

Clearly he had missed his chance with the tour of the house, and the more Draco thought about it the more he thought it might have had something to do with the fact that Harry had looked so pleased with himself as he had shown off his handiwork that Draco hadn't been able to bear the idea of destroying all that happiness. Harry tended to look like a wounded puppy when Draco suggested he'd done something wrong and Draco couldn't bear Harry's wounded puppy face. Annoying him by being his usual sarcastic self was one thing, but somewhere along the line of their odd friendship genuinely upsetting him had become quite another and it was something Draco was strangely unwilling to do.

No, it was no good. What he needed was a brand new plan.

By the time Harry suggested another visit to the house, this time to help him decorate Teddy's room Draco had formulated a plan. If he couldn't tell Harry what a bad idea it was to move into the house, he'd just have to show him instead. Actions, after all, spoke louder than words.

It was whilst they were painting the walls in Teddy's new room, something which Harry seemed determined to do the Muggle way, with rollers and paintbrushes, that Draco put the first part of his plan into action. He waited until Harry's back was turned and then performed a little bit of wandless magic, just enough to make the can of paint tip off the stepladder Harry had balanced it on.

Harry yelped as the can crashed to the floor and whipped around to glare accusingly at Draco. Draco quickly schooled his expression into one of surprised innocence and pointed to the floor where the paint was slowly spreading into a large pool of blue.

"Must have overbalanced," Harry said, shrugging when he realised Draco was nowhere near it.

"Must have," said Draco innocently, turning away to hide his grin. His plan was in motion.

By the time they stopped for lunch Draco had overbalanced a pile of paint brushes and moved Harry's roller across the room three times, forcing him to look round for it with increasingly irritated exclamations of "I'm sure I left it here," and "How the hell did it get over here?" He was also giving Draco increasingly suspicious looks as if he thought Draco was playing a trick on him and Draco was beginning to realise that if these things were going to happen, he needed to make it look like they were happening to him too.

Lunch was served by Kreacher, who reminded Draco painfully of Dobby, not in looks, but in the way he seemed to hero worship Harry. He did his best to be especially nice to the House Elf, partly to please Harry and partly in the hope that it would ease his own gilt over his treatment of his former House Elf. It occurred to him halfway through lunch that Kreacher might be a handy ally in his endeavour providing he didn't actually tell the House Elf what the end point of the exercise was - getting Harry to move out was probably not a course of action the Elf would get behind, but Draco hadn't been a Slytherin for nothing and he was pretty sure he could concoct some sort of story that would sound plausible to Kreacher.

He was so busy thinking about this new idea that he almost missed his chance to put his current plan into action again.

"It's quite hot in here," he announced suddenly, pulling his jumper off and very deliberately placing it over the chair next to him. Harry looked surprised because it wasn't hot at all, but Draco feigned fanning himself and pretended not to notice the surprise and Harry went back to his treacle tart.

It only took a moment to manoeuvre his wand under the table so that he could spell the jumper across the room to the other side of the table whilst Harry was preoccupied with telling Kreacher what a delicious lunch he'd made. Then all that was needed was to feign a look of surprise when his jumper wasn't where he'd supposedly left it as they got up to go back upstairs.

"How did it get there?" Harry asked, once he'd located the missing garment and was handing it back to Draco, looking at it gingerly as if it might suddenly grow wings and fly away.

"No idea," Draco said, leaving Harry to mumble to himself about how Kreacher had probably moved it thinking it belonged to Harry.

By the time they were packing up for the day Draco had managed to make several more things move, or spill, being careful this time to make sure he moved his own possessions as well. He was particularly proud of the way he had made the door slam in his own face every time he tried to leave the room, something which had caused Harry to take out his own wand and run a set of diagnostic spells on the door and look more puzzled than ever when they came up negative.

"Some strange things happened today," Draco said casually, once they were safely ensconced back at the flat later that evening.

"Yeah," Harry said, and didn't seem inclined to elaborate, but he was frowning in puzzlement, which Draco took as a sign he was at least thinking about them.

"What do you think it was?" Draco persisted, unwilling to miss the opportunity to plant the seeds of doubt in Harry's head.

"Dunno," Harry shrugged and this time it was Draco's turn to frown. Harry didn't seem to be as interested as he'd hoped.

"Maybe it the house," Draco tried, "Maybe it doesn't like you decorating it. These old houses have a life of their own you know. The families put so much of their magic into them that eventually the house is like one of them. You know what that old woman was like. Maybe the whole house is like that."

Harry looked for a moment as if he was considering this and Draco decided to go a step further.

"Old houses are full of weird spirits, sort of half ghosts. Maybe it won't rest until it gets rid of you."

To Draco's consternation Harry started laughing, which was not the reaction he'd been hoping for at all.

"Oh, come on, Draco, you don't actually believe that crap do you?" he chuckled, "House spirits? Half ghosts? You know as well as I do none of that is real. I thought only batty old ladies and children believe that rubbish."

"Batty old men believe it, too," Draco joked, trying to force a smile onto his lips. It was true he didn't believe any of it himself, but he'd hoped he could at least make Harry consider the possibility, rather than dismissing it outright. "What do you think it was then?" he tried.

"Oh, nothing. Probably just coincidence." Harry shrugged again and started talking about furniture for the living room, forcing Draco to drop the subject. He only half listened to Harry chatting about sofas though, the rest of his brain was occupied with thinking up new ways to make Harry believe the house was no good.

*****

Two weeks later it was clear to Draco that he'd failed. He knew this because he was lying in a brand new bed, in his brand new room, staring at the too-high ceiling and watching the light from the fire flicker across his vision. It wasn't completely terrible here in this room. Harry had done a good job at making it everything Draco could possibly want.

The rest of the house though - that was another story. There were even colder, empty rooms than Draco had feared and Harry still stubbornly refused to accept that the house didn't want them here. 

Draco had tried everything. Spilling things constantly, knocking over ornaments, making pictures fall off the wall; even on one memorable occasion moving all the new living room furniture into new positions whilst Harry was out the room. 

Unfortunately Harry seemed to decide that Draco had done this because he wanted it that way, and no amount of protests on Draco's part would make Harry think otherwise. Harry had simply smiled at him fondly, and told him that the new arrangement was much better than before, and Draco had been forced to back down.

The problem was that Draco rather liked it when Harry smiled at him that way. It did strange things to his insides and made his mouth too dry to speak and all he could do was smile back like some sort of lunatic. It annoyed Draco no end that Harry could do this to him, and the only thing which annoyed him more was the idea that one day Harry might smile at someone other than him like that.

Still, no amount of smiles negated the fact that they were now living in the very house Draco hated. He had failed to prevent it. Clearly it was time to move the plan onto the next level.

*****

It took him two days to come up with a new plan. During those two days Harry had led him proudly into the study and shown him the new furniture he'd bought.

Draco was pleased because it meant one less empty room in the house and because Harry had done a remarkably good job of making it seem warm and cosy, with a large desk matching the wooden panelled walls, thick burgundy curtains and rug, and a roaring fire in the grate. Harry was pleased because Draco admired it and he skittered around the room like an overexcited toddler, pointing out various things, such as how he'd added all of Draco's books that had found their way to his flat to the shelves, and the magical globe he'd bought which turned through day and night and could show you the weather anywhere in the world. There was one thing though which pulled Draco's attention away from Harry's excited face and onto the wall behind the couch.

"You kept the tapestry," he said.

"Oh..." Harry came to a halt in his rambling about some plant Neville had sent him that was on the windowsill and came to stand next to Draco. "Yeah, it was too big to take out the wall like we did with the portrait so Hermione helped me do the next best thing, which was repair it."

Draco stared. The tapestry no longer looked as it had the last time he'd seen it: faded and mouldering, with burnt patches and ragged edges. Now it looked new, the golden threads shining in the firelight, the missing names restored and their descendants added. Teddy now had his place on the tapestry, and when Draco looked more closely, so too did Harry. 

"Well, there were already Potters on there," Harry said when Draco pointed this out. "I just did a bit of research and filled in the rest until it got to me. I guess there wasn't much point since I won't have any descendants - the house will go to Teddy after me, but I wanted to at least have some record of my family."

"It looks much better," was all Draco could think of to say. He didn't know why the reminder of Harry's sexuality had sent his head into a spin, it wasn't like it was a recent revelation. In fact, it had been on that very first night years ago when Harry had announced over yet another beer, "I'm gay, you know," and Draco hadn't been able to think of anything to do other than nod as if he _had_ known, which was a nonsense because the _Prophet_ hadn't got hold of it at that point. He'd only returned the confidence after he'd been assigned as Harry's Auror partner and there had been that unfortunate incident with Astoria Greengrass and half a dozen pineapples.

None of this really helped Draco's resolve to carry out his plan, but shortly afterwards when he found himself traipsing down the hallway past half open doors that led to empty white spaces, Draco knew he had to go through with it.

*****

In the end it wasn't so hard. If took less time than he'd feared and caused him far less guilt than he might otherwise have felt. He put that down to the fact that Harry had decided to start messing about in the basement, and the horrible smell of rotting damp and the dark, yawning hole he could see every time Harry went down there and left the door open reminded him of everything he hated about the Manor and about this place.

"Draco!" Harry yelled, about an hour after Draco had set the plan into motion. His voice was coming from the dining room, which had already been half decorated with the help of Mrs Weasley and Hermione, who seemed to think they knew best when it came to that particular room, although sadly were not always in agreement about what "best" might actually be.

Draco strolled into the room, finding it already in chaos, with Doxys rocketing around the ceiling, pulling at the curtains and clambering up the cabinets.

"Draco!" Harry yelled again, as two started to tug at his hair and one tried to remove his glasses. "Don't just stand there!"

Draco realised that at this point his casual attitude to the whole thing probably looked suspicious and cursed himself for not having thought through his reaction as part of the plan. Besides he didn't actually want to see Harry being physically attacked, so he whisked out his wand and performed a quick Freezing Charm on the Doxy that had Harry's glasses.

"Thanks," Harry gasped snatching the glasses from the creature's frozen fingers as it fell to the floor. "Now help me get the rest."

It took longer than Draco had expected to round up the creatures. There seemed to be more than he remembered and they were certainly a lot more destructive than he had planned for. By the time they had rounded up the last few, shutting them in a cage Harry had hastily transfigured from a chair, they were both covered in scratches and the room looked as if a small tornado had passed through.

"How the hell did they get in here?" Harry panted, as he slammed the cage door shut on the last of them. Draco had prepared a whole speech about this, but decided to forgo it in favour of clutching at the nasty scratch on his forearm. 

"Little shits," he spat, and aimed a kick at the cage. It hurt his toe, which just made him even more angry. He was beginning to suspect that his brilliant idea had not been so brilliant after all.

He made an attempt to salvage it, but he was too angry with himself and with the world to think properly. "This house is a nightmare," was all he could think of to say in the end. 

It was a small consolation that for once in a way Harry seemed to agree with him.

*****

"I've got a surprise for you." Harry announced, the moment Draco Flooed back from Sunday dinner at the Manor. It was probably just because Harry was standing there looking so shiny and happy and because he'd just come from the Manor, which was the complete opposite of those things, that Draco suddenly felt the warm rush of coming home. His heart thumped and his breath hitched and for the first time since they'd moved in he felt glad to be here. He actually thought of the house as home.

It made him want to wrap his arms around Harry and hold him close.

"What surprise?" He pushed the thought down and tried to compose himself, but though he was aware of the wobble in his voice, Harry didn't seem to notice for he immediately turned and bounded out of the room, barely glancing back to see if Draco was following him.

Curious Draco trailed after him and felt the flood of happiness and warmth drain away as he realised Harry was heading towards the basement. True, he had been down there with the door closed fairly often recently, but as far as Draco was concerned this was not much better than him leaving the door open and he'd tried to ignore the whole thing as much as possible. 

"Come on," Harry said encouragingly and opened the door, still apparently oblivious to Draco's inner turmoil. The lamps were already burning on the walls, which at least alleviated the darkness, and when Harry descended the stairs Draco forced himself to go after him, pushing out thoughts of Ollivander and Luna trapped in the secret room under Malfoy Manor and how he had dreaded descending steps just like these everyday during the War.

"Do you like it?" 

Draco had barely noticed they'd reached the bottom of the steps and that Harry was looking at him with expectant concern, peering at him as if he'd just seen his discomfiture and was worried about it. Draco hastily pulled himself together and looked around, only to gasp in surprise at the sight before him.

This was no dank dungeon-like room, hidden away beneath the house, instead the warmth of the lamps bathed the room in a flickering light, which danced over crystal phials and pewter cauldrons, glass alembics and pestle and mortars, and shelves and shelves of potions ingredients, all neatly labelled and organised.

"Well?" said Harry, his voice sounding a little more unsure now. "Is it okay? I thought you might like it. I know you like making Potions and stuff and well..." He trailed off and rubbed the back of his neck nervously with one hand.

A bubble of something swelled in Draco's chest, a bubble that grew and grew until he felt like he was going to burst with the sheer joy of it all. Harry had done this for him. Just for him.

He swallowed. Screw being cool and clam and collected. This was the most wonderful thing that had possibly ever happened to him in his life. It was right up there with Harry's smile.

"I love it," he said and allowed himself to grin, honestly and openly. He swayed forwards, catching himself when he realised he had been about to embrace Harry, which would clearly be a step too far, even in these circumstances.

Luckily Harry didn't notice and looked so delighted it almost made Draco feel bad about the Doxys. Almost.

*****

Since the Doxys had turned into such a disaster Draco decided he needed to think more carefully about his next plan. Harry was putting so much work into the house, and much as Draco hated (most) of it, he had hardly been able to bear Harry's disappointed looking face when they had surveyed the mess made by the Doxys. The next stage needed to be much more carefully planned.

In the end he enrolled the help of Kreacher by explaining to the House Elf that he wanted to trick Harry into thinking that his clothes were alive.

"Kreacher does not see why Master Draco would want to make clothes look alive. Master Harry will be angry with Kreacher for this."

Draco was prepared for this. "It's a joke, Kreacher. Harry will find it funny."

The House Elf looked suspicious. "Kreacher does not see why clothes is funny."

Of course he didn't. Neither did Draco if it came to it and Harry certainly wouldn't if things went to plan.

"It's... well, it's a human thing Kreacher. It's what friends do to make each other laugh. It's just a joke and once Harry knows it's a joke everything will be fine. He'll laugh at his own reaction."

Hell, he was almost believing this himself now. He almost had himself persuaded that he and Harry would have a good laugh about all this afterwards. Maybe they would one day far in the future when they'd moved out of the house years ago and were living somewhere else and Harry would no longer have a reason to get mad when he heard what Draco had done.

"Trust me, Kreacher," he added, seeing the House Elf still hesitating. "If he gets angry I promise it will be at me, not you."

Kreacher relented eventually, and Draco spent some time explaining the plan. It was only afterwards that he realised he had automatically assumed he and Harry would still be living together in ten, or even twenty, years time. He tried out the idea that they might not be and found it unbearable, so resolved to give it no more thought.

*****

"Master Harry did not seem amused."

Draco shot upright in bed and groped for his wand. Apparently House Elves could see in the dark because when he managed to get it lit Kreacher was standing on the bed staring at him suspiciously.

"Master Draco said Master Harry would be amused and Master Harry was not. Did Master Draco tell him what had been done?"

Draco hesitated. He knew Kreacher already knew that he had told Harry nothing. True to the plan Kreacher had waited until Harry had been in bed before making the clothes in his room step out of the wardrobe one by one, robes and trousers and jumpers all arranged to look like invisible people were wearing them, advancing towards Harry with arms outstretched.

With a yell Harry had come streaking out of his room so fast that he'd collided with Draco on the landing and they'd tumbled onto the carpet in a mess of warmth and bare skin that had Draco temporarily disorientated as his nostrils filled with the scent of Harry and his every nerve seemed to flare into life in one dizzying moment of euphoria.

"Is it you?" Harry had yelled, as soon as he had extracted himself enough to speak, and Draco had been so unsettled by the way his body was reacting that the whole 'making the clothes look like creepy spirits' idea had completely flown out of his head. It had the advantage of making him seem innocently confused, which was probably a good thing, because Draco suspected that Harry was getting a bit too good at being able to tell when he was lying.

Luckily Harry had decided the expression was genuine because he had leapt to his feet and dragged Draco with him into the airing cupboard, just as the clothes had made it out onto the landing.

Squashed into what was quite a small space once you took into account the fact that most of it was filled with shelves Draco had found himself completely unable to offer more than a shaky, "Oh, right," to Harry's rather garbled explanation of what had happened, distracted as he was by the intense warmth of Harry pressed against his side. Not that they hadn't been pressed together like this before, Auror work had required them to hide in some quite unusual places, including one memorable occasion when they'd been forced to lie curled up on top of one another on the highest shelf of a storage cupboard and only Harry's elbow jabbing into his side in a rather painful way, not to mention the two Dark Wizards searching the shelves below for some unknown item, had prevented Draco from developing a rather embarrassing problem. 

In the airing cupboard though, both dressed in only boxers and t-shirts, there had been a lot more bare skin than there ever was whilst in Auror robes, and Draco had managed to reel in just enough of his common sense to remember that there was no mortal danger to worry about, which meant that there was an entirely different sort of danger to worry about, and he had needed to give all his concentration to _not_ developing what would be, not to put too fine a point on it, a raging erection.

All in all it had meant that once again his carefully thought out reasoning about spirits in the house and errant Dark Magic embedded in the very fabric of the building fled from his mind, leaving him to flail stupidly as Harry had flung open the door and sent a series of spells whizzing down the corridor at the clothes. 

They had immediately fallen to the floor and lain as if they had never been moving at all, and Draco had tumbled out of the cupboard, red faced and sure his hair looked like a bird had nested in it, and Harry had grinned at him fondly which hadn't helped with _anything_ , and then gone to sleep in the spare room, displaying a level of control that Draco had not expected at all.

Quite frankly the whole thing had not gone anything like to plan and now he was safely tucked up in his own room and Harry wasn't distracting him by being all warm and Harry-like Draco was extremely annoyed about it. Explaining the whole thing to a House Elf was not top of the list of things he wanted to do right now.

"No," he said, trying to get his mind in order when he realised that _'go away'_ was not an answer Kreacher would accept. "That's because um... I though- yes, that's it- I thought it would be even funnier if we did it again tomorrow. After that we'll tell him. He'll find it even funnier when he knows he was tricked more than once."

He gave Kreacher a look of triumph, rather pleased at his own explanation. Clearly he hadn't been a Slytherin for nothing! Kreacher looked askance, but now Draco had started he knew he would come out on top, and sure enough within ten minutes he had persuaded Kreacher to repeat the trick the following night.

*****

Harry hadn't mentioned the clothes at all the next day, although since they were not on the landing when he got up Draco assumed Kreacher had put them away. In fact the only way in which Harry acknowledged the incident was that when they went up to bed he headed for the spare room and shut the door very firmly.

That didn't worry Draco. He held a brief conversation with Kreacher and then retired to his own room, leaving the door open just a crack so he could peek out and see what was happening.

Kreacher began immediately. Draco saw the clothes drifting down the landing towards the door of the spare room, and though he knew it was Kreacher controlling them, even Draco had to admit they looked creepy hovering in the semi darkness outside the room. Then the door opened and they drifted inside. All Draco could do then was wait, half holding his breath and wondering how Harry would react this time.

Seconds ticked by and then Draco heard a muffled curse, followed by the zing and fizz of magic, before Harry came barrelling out of the room in nothing but his boxers.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" he yelled, as Draco judged it safe to come out of his room and pretend he'd been attracted by the racket. The clothes drifted through the door after Harry and Draco watched his eyes widen as he flung another spell in their direction and then ran down the corridor towards Draco, pulling him inside his room and slamming the door shut.

"Will you please explain to me why the fuck my clothes are trying to attack me?" he said, although Draco could tell from his tone that he didn't really think it had anything to do with Draco at all, which suited him nicely.

"Maybe something doesn't like you living here," Draco suggested, feeling that now was the time to bring this up, whilst Harry wasn't pressed against him and addling his wits.

Harry simply snorted derisively and opened the door to peer down the corridor. A second later Draco nearly jumped out of his skin when he yelled, "Kreacher!" at the top of his voice and the House Elf appeared with an alarming bang.

"Yes, Master Harry?" the Elf said, and for one awful moment Draco realised that if Harry asked Kreacher what was going on the House Elf was never going to lie to him, no matter what Draco had said about keeping it a secret in order to 'trick' Harry. 

"Can you stop my clothes doing that?" Harry said, and Draco breathed a sign of relief.

"Kreacher can, Master Harry." The little Elf bowed low and Draco caught Harry rolling his eyes at the gesture.

"Draco thinks it's a spirit causing it. Do you think he's right?"

"There is no spirits here, Master Harry. Kreacher has checked. Kreacher would know." The Elf wrung its hands and glanced over at Draco, clearly wanting to reveal the plot, but unable to break Draco's order without Harry questioning him directly.

Luckily Harry was too busy rubbing his eyes to notice. "That's what I thought. Tomorrow I'll talk to Hermione about it, see what she thinks. Right now, I need to go to sleep. Go deal with the clothes please, Kreacher." The Elf bowed and departed with another angry glance at Draco and another loud bang.

"Bedtime," Harry announced and to Draco's surprise headed straight for the bed. Draco could do nothing but stare as Harry pulled back the covers and started to clamber in.

"Wha- what are you doing?" he stammered eventually, when it became clear that Harry intended to stay and was beginning to look confused at Draco's lack of movement.

"You think I'm going to sleep in that room now? Or my room for that matter? No thanks, I'll wait until I know whether my clothes are about to strangle me in my sleep." He pulled back the other side of the covers. "Come on, we'll just have to share. I promise I won't snore or steal all the covers."

"Right," said Draco faintly. _'You could just sleep in Teddy's room.'_ The words were on the tip of his tongue; no doubt Harry had simply not thought about the fact that his Godson's room had a spare bed, even if all the other spare rooms were still awaiting furniture. 

He climbed in and made a show of arranging the covers before looking over at Harry uncertainly. He had taken off his glasses and was looking at Draco with a lopsided smile and a slightly unfocused gaze.

"All right?" he asked.

 _'We don't have to share a bed. There's a perfectly functional one in Teddy's room,'_ Draco failed to say. "Yeah," he said instead and settled down under the covers.

*****

He awoke the next morning with a warm body plastered against his side and a heavy arm flung across his chest. It took him quite a while to blink enough sleep from his mind to realise that both belonged to Harry, who whilst he had kept his word about the snoring and the duvet stealing, had very much invaded Draco's personal space during the night and was now in a position that was going to get very awkward should he wake now. Not only could Draco feel something long and hard pressing into his hip, he also had a problem of his own to contend with, which wasn't helped at all by Harry's proximity.

He bit down on the side of his hand to smother a groan and then started to extract himself with extreme care. It was painstaking and his heart skipped a beat when Harry shifted and seemed about to stir, but he settled again and finally Draco was standing by the bed, watching Harry sleep.

There was something about Harry when he slept, all the fire he carried during the day seemed to have been damped down, though not extinguished. Never extinguished. Even now Draco could tell it smouldered beneath the surface, ready to flare again the moment Harry opened his eyes. He'd seen Harry wake before, when they'd shared hotel rooms (though never the bed), or when they'd had to nap in shifts on duty, and it was a process that Draco never failed to find fascinating. Whilst Draco was sleepy eyed and blurry minded for a long time after he woke, apt to pour orange juice on his porridge or put his robes on inside out, Harry would flare into life the moment he opened his eyes, his brain apparently firing on all cylinders the instant he awoke, his movements as coordinated and smooth as they ever were. Draco thought Harry could probably wake up, jump on his broom and catch a Snitch in a matter of seconds should he ever need to, and sometimes he wondered if it was the product of his life during the War, or even of his life with the Muggles of his childhood, who Draco had heard enough about to hate on a very personal level, despite the fact that he had left his hatred of Muggles in general behind long ago.

Whatever it was Draco envied it of him, even if it meant he could not allow himself the luxury of watching Harry sleep for long. Harry would know instantly what he was doing; there would be no hiding the fact or writing it off as Harry's half awake imagination.

*****

"Master Draco told Master Harry. Kreacher is hearing him laugh about it. Master Draco was right."

"What?" Draco found himself sitting up and groping for his wand for the second time in a week, although this time the House Elf standing on his bed looked much more friendly, to Draco's intense relief.

The day had not started well. Once he had awoken, Harry had spoken of contacting Hermione about the strange phenomena of the clothes and Draco had put him off only by suggesting that Harry himself should run some basic diagnostic spells before he took the problem to her, pointing out that she'd only roll her eyes and sigh dramatically if he hadn't done so. 

If he hadn't already decided once and for all that the clothes idea had been stupid, he definitely thought it was now. How on earth had he thought Harry would react? Of course Harry would never have taken the idea of spirits at face value and run away from the house immediately. He would want to investigate and Hermione would no doubt unravel the whole thing the second she stepped through the Floo. It had been a stupid plan. A childish plan, in fact. He needed a new one.

Luckily Harry was well aware of what Hermione's reaction was likely to be if he didn't at least try something for himself so had gone off to run the spells, whilst Draco had taken the radical step of actually Flooing to Hermione's and feeding her the story of how he'd animated the clothes as a joke and he was going to tell Harry eventually, and couldn't Hermione please play along because it was just a joke and Harry would find it funny, and there was no need to bother herself by coming to investigate.

To his infinite surprise, Hermione after some initial looks of suspicion, had actually agreed and when Harry had finally made contact, because of course his diagnostic spells had revealed nothing of Kreacher's magic, Hermione had simply suggested it was random magical discharges and that Harry should call her immediately if it happened again so she could take measurements.

Harry, with no reason not to trust Hermione, had agreed and the issue of the clothes was dropped for the rest of the day. 

Now, Draco was struggling to understand exactly what Kreacher was talking about. He hadn't said anything to Harry, and Harry certainly hadn't laughed about it, but...

Oh. _Oh._

Harry had laughed. Over a rare glass of Firewhisky somehow the conversation had turned to old flames and Draco had found himself telling the story of how Pansy had cornered him in one of Filch's broom cupboards and attempted to stick her tongue down his throat in fifth year. Harry had laughed. In fact he'd laughed so hard that Draco had gone on to tell another story, this one about how Astoria Greengrass had pursued him for nearly a year, writing odd little poems and sending him 'presents' of beetles' eyes and bats' blood because he'd once told her he liked Potions.

Draco had been pleased with Harry's laughter. Harry laughed often and readily, but whilst Ron could make him laugh, and George, and Charlie, and even Hermione, who Draco still thought was too serious for her own good, Draco could rarely manage it. He'd never learnt how to be funny beyond sneering at those beneath him, something which Harry would never have tolerated. He wasn't the sort to indulge in self-deprecating humour, which to him seemed ridiculous - why point out your flaws to everyone else? - and he had never been blessed with a quick wit and a ready tongue, no matter how clever he liked to think he was so to make Harry laugh was something rare and precious and Draco hugged it to himself and treasured every moment.

He almost didn't want to cloud it by using it to back up a lie, but as much as he loved Harry's laughter, he feared his disappointment more, so he swallowed and tried to act as if his confusion was merely down to sleepiness.

"Yes, I told him and he found it very funny. I told you he would. In fact he found it so funny that I think we should play another trick."

He almost felt bad at how readily Kreacher agreed to his latest, most brilliant plan.

*****

“Harry, I think there’s something in the spare room,” Draco said, trying to sound casual about it, as if the rattling noises coming from behind the door to their left could just be a product of his overactive imagination.

“You think?” Harry snapped in response, which Draco thought was rather uncalled for, since he was only trying to be helpful. “What the hell is it this time?”

Before Draco could come up with a reasonable answer, which wasn’t _“It’s a Boggart,”_ Harry had strode to the door and flung it open, not even taking the precaution of drawing his wand beforehand. Draco hurried through the door after him only because he knew that there was nothing dangerous awaiting them. 

“It’s coming from the wardrobe,” Harry informed him, when Draco came to a halt besides him in the middle of the room. 

“You think?” Draco couldn’t resist throwing back, since the wardrobe was rocking so hard it was in danger of falling over and Draco thought it was only fair that he should get to have a dig at Harry when he pointed out the obvious as well.

Harry merely huffed, drew his wand and flung a spell at the doors without waiting to consult Draco, which Draco thought was rather par for the course with Harry, who tended to favour act now, think later when dealing with criminals. Draco was of the opinion it was only thanks to his own quick thinking that Harry hadn't suffered any permanent or fatal injuries in his time with the Aurors.

Thankfully he knew no quick thinking was required this time because he knew that the wardrobe contained not one, but three Boggarts. At least, it would if Kreacher had done his job properly. Even so, he was still a little alarmed when the first Boggart burst from the wardrobe in the shape of a Dementor. He had forgotten that this was Harry’s biggest fear; forgotten that they were not something he exactly loved either, and he’d just felt the first icy cold tendrils fill his lungs when a silvery shape shot from Harry’s wand straight towards the Dementor, causing it to stumble and trip on its own robe.

“Boggart!” Harry yelled, just as a second shape burst from the wardrobe, this time fixated on Draco. This was something Draco had not thought of before, which he now realised was extreme stupidity on his part, as the figure of Voldemort strode across the room, one hand extended towards Draco as if to pluck his very heart from his chest.

Next to him Harry was yelling something, but Draco had no idea what; his vision was filled with the figure before him.

The smell seeped into his nostrils, the stink of death and fear that had filled the Manor in those long, horrifying months before Harry had ended the war.

Harry.

The thought brought him back to the present. Harry was here, Voldemort was gone. Harry had defeated him. As long as Harry was here everything would be all right. There was no need to fear Voldemort anymore. He raised his wand.

“Riddikulus.”

A flash of green and the vision of Voldemort vanished. There was a brief moment of confusion; the suggestion of a Dementor; Harry, warm and solid beside him; another flash of green and then, suddenly, ridiculously even, Harry was lying dead at his feet.

He gaped for a moment at the prone figure, hardly believing his eyes. Harry had been right there besides him; Voldemort was gone, there had been no danger. Draco laughed stupidly and jabbed at the figure with his toe. Harry wasn’t dead. He wasn’t.

He was vaguely aware that he had ceased to laugh, that there was an odd strangled sort of noise from his right and then someone was screaming hysterically, on and on without stopping. He covered his ears with his hands and squeezed his eyes shut, but the image of Harry dead before him seemed burned into his retina. There was the taste of blood in this mouth and the sensation of falling. Then everything went dark.

*****

Draco awoke with a sense of dread that he couldn’t quite place and a concerned pair of green eyes far too close for comfort.

“You’re dead,” he said stupidly, and then wondered why he had said it.

“It was a Boggart, Draco,” Harry said, as if this explained everything: why Draco was lying in what he was slowly coming to realise was Harry’s bed, and why his throat felt like it had been ripped to shreds, and why his voice sounded quite so rough.

“What was?” he asked, and then flinched because that also sounded stupid and he was aware enough now that he realised he wasn’t supposed to sound stupid. Sounding stupid was not what Malfoys did.

Harry sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “Those things in the room, they were all Boggarts. Three of them. Merlin knows how they got in the wardrobe but seeing myself dead on the floor is an experience I’d rather not repeat. It was bad enough when I was fifteen."

Draco didn’t understand this last part, but he did understand about the Boggarts and he was beginning to think that it didn’t matter whether he sounded stupid because clearly he was stupid. What sort of idiot was he to put three Boggarts in a wardrobe and then run into the room to look at them? Of course they were going to turn into Voldemort; of course they were going to show him his worst fear. Except that didn’t explain how Harry was alive now when Draco had been so sure he was dead.

“But you were dead,” he gasped struggling to sit up so he could get a better look at Harry, who was still peering at him in concern.

Harry frowned at him as if he’d just said something very puzzling. “That was the Boggart, Draco."

Oh. _Oh._

That had definitely not been part of the plan. Since when was his worst fear Harry dead?

 _Since forever,_ his treacherous brain answered, which was possibly stupider than the whole Boggart thing because he'd hated Harry at school. Harry dead was probably in his top ten wish list right up to the point when _Harry dead_ had become synonymous with _Voldemort ruling the world forever._ Voldemort had been his biggest fear since he'd taken the Mark and at some point he'd realised that Harry was the only one who ever had a chance of stopping him. 

"It was me," he blurted out, because now that his brain had switched to stupid he didn't seem to be able to set it back to intelligent.

Harry blinked once and then asked, "What was you?"

"The Boggarts, I put the Boggarts in the wardrobe. Well, no, not really. It was Kreacher, but I ordered him to do it." He was babbling again, which was ridiculous. His only comfort was that Harry looked completely perplexed and probably had no idea what he was going on about.

"What? You ordered... what? Why?"

"Because-" he hesitated and then realised that _it was a trick_ , wasn't going to cut it with Harry as it had with Kreacher.

"Why would you do that?" And now Harry looked hurt, which was a million times worse than Harry looking confused because Draco _never_ wanted to hurt Harry. It was the one thing in his life that he was one hundred percent certain about.

He opened his mouth, then shut it, watching realisation dawn in Harry's eyes. "The Doxys were you as well, weren't they? And the clothes, that was you too, wasn't it?"

Draco swallowed. This was not the way he had planned the afternoon going. Harry looked angry and Draco prepared himself for a tirade. 

He waited. After a moment he opened his eyes, wondering when he'd closed them, and realised that Harry was no longer looking angry, instead he was looking at Draco in the same way he sometimes looked at the dotty old ladies who'd gone batshit crazy and charmed their handbags to attack anyone who came near them.

"Why did you do it?"

It was such a direct question that for a moment Draco was floored. He'd been mentally preparing for anger, for shouted insults and possible hexes. This had thrown him completely. He fumbled for a moment and then realised that it was now or never.

"I hate it here. I wanted you to move out."

"What?" Harry asked looking surprised, "Why would you hate it?"

Draco opened his mouth to list all the reasons that had been buzzing around in his head all these weeks - empty rooms, cold draughts, the dark despair that filled the place - and then snapped it shut again. Suddenly he realised that none of those things was really true. This house wasn't the cosy flat Harry had once lived in but nor was it the dreadful, soulless place Draco had been expecting. His worst fears were just that - fears. Harry wasn't dead and the house wasn't terrible.

"I don't know," he said lamely when he realised Harry was still waiting for an answer. He was still a Malfoy and he wasn't going to admit he might have been wrong.

Harry gave him an odd look and ran a hand through his hair, glancing over at the wall and then back to Draco as if he was suddenly nervous.

"I like this house Draco and I like sharing it with you. I thought you liked it too but if you don't... I mean - I know you hate the Manor, I know that's why you don't go back but if you want I can help you find your own place. Actually I still have the lease on the flat, you could go live there if you prefer."

Draco blinked silently at Harry, thinking that once again Harry had managed to surprise him, not just with his reaction to Draco's confession, but also the fact that Harry had known why he was here in the first place. The idea that he might want to leave was just... unimaginable. 

Draco tried to picture living in the flat without Harry, tried to picture living anywhere without Harry, and failed. There was no point to living anywhere that didn't contain Harry.

It wasn't a house that made a home. It was Harry.

"No," he gasped, the moment his brain managed to get a message to his tongue, "I don't want to move out, I want you."

He stopped, horrified by what had just come out of his mouth. Why had he said that? That hadn't been what he'd intended to say at all!

Harry looked confused. "You want me?"

"Yes, I mean no." Oh Merlin he was babbling again and Harry was definitely going to get suspicious at this rate. "I mean," he tried again, "I want to live with you."

"Oh." Was it his imagination or did Harry look disappointed? "I mean, that's good. But what about..." Harry trailed off and gestured vaguely at the room. 

"No, doesn't matter." Draco shook his head, swinging his legs over the side of the bed so he could sit up facing Harry. "I don't hate it, not really. I thought I did but..." 

"So you want to stay here with me," Harry interjected, his eyes darting around the room as if he wanted to look anywhere but Draco. "But you don't want me. Is that what you're saying?" 

"Yes, I... I don't know why I said...." Draco trailed off. It was definitely disappointment he was seeing in Harry's eyes. Definitely more than a hint that he wanted Draco to want him.

Oh. _Oh._

"Well, um..." he tried, then had to stop to clear his throat because it felt as if both his heart and his stomach had leapt up into his throat at the same time and were competing for space in his oesophagus. "It's not that I don't want you," he tried, but it came out as an odd croaky sort of whisper and he started to panic. Of all the many ways he'd imagined this going, something like this had never featured. In his imagination he'd been smooth and suave and very in control; now it was actually happening he was definitely none of those things. 

Harry though did seem to be in control because suddenly his eyes were very much on Draco, bright and piercing and no longer disappointed. In fact now they looked hopeful and Draco felt himself heat up under their piercing gaze. 

"I think-" Harry began and then seemed to lose the thread. He licked his lips and tried again, "I think-Fuck it."

Draco blinked in surprise at the rare curse word and then made an embarrassingly strangled noise that got lost somewhere in his throat because suddenly Harry's lips were on his. It took Draco a few moments to process this - Harry was kissing him - and then he realised that if he didn't react Harry was going to _stop_ kissing him and that would be almost as bad as finding another Boggart in the house.

He kissed back and Harry made a pleased noise and hooked an arm around his shoulders, deepening the kiss. It was warm and wonderful and Draco knew he could lose himself in this moment forever.

He had finally realised the most important thing: wherever Harry was would always feel like home, and that was good enough for him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! You can show your appreciation for the author in a comment here or on [Livejournal](http://hd-erised.livejournal.com/56572.html). ♥
> 
> This story is part of an on-going anonymous fest hosted at [hd_erised @ livejournal.com](http://hd_erised.livejournal.com/). The author will be revealed January 8th.


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